


As Long as There's a Light

by TheThirdTemptationOfParis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (a little from Mary and from the case), (kinda), Adultery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on a Fall Out Boy Song, Case Fic, M/M, Manipulation, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 04:33:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14180712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirdTemptationOfParis/pseuds/TheThirdTemptationOfParis
Summary: Until you die for me, as long as there's a light, my shadow's over you 'cause I'm the opposite of amnesia. And you're a cherry blossom, you're about to bloom. You look so pretty but you're gone so soon.Sherlock cupped the back of his neck, drawing him in to his chest, “You can’t think like that. You know what will happen if you try...Come on, dear man. Get dressed.” So John did, his heart fitting its own armor on in tandem.





	As Long as There's a Light

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Centuries the other day and the line about the cherry blossom made me think. Originally this was going to be a short little adultery angst fic with a happy ending but it morphed into... all of this. Enjoy it for what it is.

There was a shifting in John’s arms that wholly woke him from his slumber. He reached out, latching onto the person trying to escape him, pulling them closer to his chest, “Stay,” he said, pressing his lips to a shoulder, “just a little bit longer.”

Sherlock placed a hand on John’s, squeezing lightly, “We can’t. We’ve been here three days. I solved the case yesterday.”

John laughed, “You? I remember specifically I had a hand in there as well.”

“Yes, well, you always do, don’t you?” He patted John’s arm, “Come on, let me up. We’ve gotta get dressed and check out.”

John sighed and released his grip, rolling onto his back, watching as Sherlock crossed the room, naked. They caught each other’s eyes in the wide mirror above the rickety dresser. “You’re gorgeous,” John whispered, admiring the view, the lines of old, fading scars only bringing a slight pang to his chest now. 

Sherlock smiled, “Stop looking at me like that. You’ll make me want to get back into bed.”

“Not exactly quelling my desire to do so, love.”

Sherlock’s smile faded then, “You have to go home, John. You know that.” 

John did. He would never admit it, but he knew Sherlock was right. This was the third case they had gone on together this month, John’s only excuse to be around Sherlock. Mary had all eyes on him at all times now. He watched in the mirror as his own face fell, dull eyes and frown lines returning. Sherlock, now dressed in his pants and trousers, walked back over to him, curving a hand around his face. 

“Don’t look like that. There’ll be another case soon.” He leaned over and kissed John softly. 

John sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, placing his hand over the bullet wound scar, the only one that still brought him fury, “What if I don’t want to wait for the next case? What if I want to come home?” 

Sherlock cupped the back of his neck, drawing him in to his chest, “You can’t think like that. You know what will happen if you try.”

John did. One or both of them would die. That had always been quite clear to him. And if he had to hazard a guess, he would be the one left alive, left to suffer, left to mourn. He kissed Sherlock’s sternum in reply. He combed a hand through John’s hair, “Come on, dear man. Get dressed.” So John did, his heart fitting its own armor on in tandem.

***

_Missing person. Critical. Come. SH_

_Where?_

_NSY. SH_

_Twenty minutes._

***

“Olive Santos, twenty-two, last seen by her girlfriend Friday morning. Said she was going back home to her parents to try and fix their relationship. The girlfriend, Anya, said that Olive only meant to be gone a few hours, but she had hope that everything was going well. It was when Olive didn’t answer her calls that she got worried,” Lestrade said, handing John a picture and file. He looked to Sherlock, who had his hands already steepled under his chin.

“Parents?” he asked. Sherlock nodded vaguely, eyes staring off. John looked down at the file. In the photo, Olive was smiling, tucking a piece of dense, dark, curly hair behind her ear. Dark skin, kind brown eyes, wearing a South Bank jumper, “Have you asked the girlfriend where the parents live?”

Lestrade nodded, “She didn’t know. She didn’t meet Olive until after she and her parents fell out. Have people working it out now.”

Beside him, Sherlock checked his watch, then steepled his hands again, “What is it?” John asked.

“Father. Old fashioned, most likely military, he’d be embarrassed. He loves his daughter. Thinks he’s doing what’s best for her. He’s trying to _fix_ her.” He spat out the the word ‘fix,’ utter disgust marring his tone. 

Sally Donovan burst into the room, “178 Royal College Street, Camden.”

Lestrade looked to Sherlock, “What do you think? Is there time for talking?”

Sherlock shook his head and stood, “Fifteen minutes to there from here, approximately eight if you use your siren. She’s been there three days already. There’s no time to lose.” He swung his Belstaff around himself and exited Lestrade’s office, both him and John following on his heels.

***

When they pulled up in front of the terraced flat, Sherlock looked to John, “Do you have your gun?”

“It’s a missing person, of course I do,” John replied.

“Good. Keep it close, but don’t draw too soon.”

John nodded, and they exited the car. Lestrade walked up to the door and knocked, “New Scotland Yard, Mr. and Mrs. Santos. Open the door.” The three men stood still for a few moments, waiting for an answer. When one didn’t come, Sherlock nudged Lestrade out of the way, turning the knob. The door opened soundlessly.

Sherlock shook his head and whispered, “Careless. I don’t think they’re home.” He looked around, taking it all in, “Basement. Quietly. Lestrade, stay by the door at the top of the stairs, John, come with me.” John nodded, following.

The basement had three rooms, both doors leading out from the middle were closed. Sherlock nodded toward one, and John nodded back, moving toward it. When he turned the knob, it was locked. He snapped, getting Sherlock’s attention. He whisked over, kneeling by the knob, lock pick in his hand. The door swung open.

Olive sat in the middle of the room, bound to a chair, drying blood on her face, eyes closed. Sherlock rushed forward as John heard footsteps behind him. He pulled his gun from his waistband and whirled around, ready to fire. A man, similar skin tone to Olive, stood before him, baseball bat in his hands, “No one was supposed to find her.”

John’s mind snapped to attention. _Military, indeed. PTSD, hands shaking, not allowed to keep his weapon, doesn’t want to actually kill anyone, Greg likely unconscious upstairs._ “Mr. Santos, I presume?” He kept his aim and put a hand behind his back, snapping his fingers again. Once he felt the cool metal in his hand, he launched into action. The cuff snapped around one of Mr. Santos’s meaty wrist, arm twisted behind his back, felled by a sweep of John’s leg, knocked unconscious by the butt of his gun. 

He walked backwards, gun still aimed, keeping his eyes on the man, “Is she alive?” he asked.

“Yes, just unconscious. Where’s Lestrade?” Sherlock replied.

John turned and handed the gun to Sherlock, “Keep an eye on them. I think Santos got to him first.” He jogged across the room and up the stairs. To his surprised, Lestrade was up and standing, his own gun poised on the missus, “What’s going on?”

“It was her idea. I assume you got the profile of him when he got down there? Susceptible. She was the one who started this.” Mrs. Santos smiled wryly, cuffed to the room’s radiator, “Is she still alive?”

“Yeah. He’s cuffed and unconscious. Did you call in backup?” 

“Three minutes out. Go make sure she’s alright.” His eyes darted to John, who nodded, jogging back down the stairs.

“Is he alright?” Sherlock asked when he entered the room.

“Fine. Sherlock, it was the missus. It was her idea.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “I should’ve seen. She thought it reflected badly on her as a mother, concocted this plan and made him do all the dirty work. I suspect she was going to act like a savior in a day or so. _Vile_.” John knew he didn’t just mean Mrs. Santos.

He moved across the concrete floor to the other room where Olive was still bound, “Olive,” he said lightly, tapping her face. She opened her eyes, fear immediately overtaking them, “Sh, sh, sweetheart, it’s alright. I’m here to get you out. You’re alright. You’re safe now.”

“Anya. Where’s Anya?” 

“Not here. I’ll have one of my detective friends call her once we get you to the hospital. She’s alright.”

Olive relaxed and let herself be untied. Her eyes looked past him, falling on her dad, “I don’t want him to get in trouble,” she said, voice small, “It wasn’t his fault. She’s a nurse, she took his meds, he’s not himself. I don’t want him to go to jail.” She hiccoughed, “He was the reason I came back.” Her eyes were bright with tears. John heard Sherlock take a shaky breath behind him and knew he was fighting a war in himself.

Once Olive was free, John lifted her, carrying her bridal style. One of Lestrade’s men and a paramedic came rushing down the stairs. Mr. Santos was roused from unconsciousness and his eyes immediately fell on Olive, “I’m so sorry, baby girl,” he whispered.

“I know, Daddy,” Olive whispered back, watching as the officer lead Mr. Santos up the stairs.

John let the paramedic take Olive from him and stood by Sherlock as she was carried up after her father. When he turned to face Sherlock, his heart sank. John stepped closer and pulled Sherlock into his arms, cradling his head as he started to cry, “I’m going to have to send her father to prison, John. And he’s just as much of a victim as she is.”

John stroked a hand through Sherlock’s curls, “Sh, I know, Sherlock, I know. But we don’t know the outcome yet. Let’s focus on now, yeah? Let’s get her first statement and then we’ll go home.” John rubbed Sherlock’s back as his crying turned to silent sobs, “Sh, darling. I know.” His voice was nearly soundless as he whispered.

*** 

_When are you coming home? M_

_Not sure. Case is just finishing up. Sherlock is really shaken, though. This was a hard one._

_He’s a big boy, John. He can handle it. M_

_Give me a few hours._

_Home by five. Your dinner will get cold. M_

***

John pocketed his phone as they pulled up to the hospital, shaking his head. Sherlock shifted beside him, “She gave you a time limit,” he whispered.

John nodded, “Five o’clock. Just enough to get a statement and get you home.”

“Don’t test her, John. No swinging by tomorrow after work.”

“Sherlock.”

“Lunch break. She has a night shift tonight and is home with Rosie tomorrow. Your break coincides with her nap. She won’t expect you home.” Lestrade, bless him, heard none of it as he rushed inside.

“I don’t like leaving you alone tonight,” John lamented, trying honesty on for size. The reason why went unsaid.

“Sober, John. I promised. For you and Rosie. And I imagine Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft won’t leave me alone. I’ll be alright.”

They exited Lestrade’s car, following after him into the hospital. Once they were in Olive’s room, Sherlock got Anya’s number from her without John even asking, calling her and letting her know where they are and the condition she was in, “Nothing life threatening. Her life was saved in more ways than one. Yes. Of course. You’re welcome.”

Olive smiled, “She’s a fan. Better be careful, she might save your number.”

Sherlock half smiled back, “A good thing, in case I’m ever needed again.”

“So, Miss Santos,” Lestrade said, small pad in his hand, “You’re sure your father wasn’t the mastermind behind this?”

“You’ve met my mother, Inspector. And my father. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

“When you came to see your parents, how were they acting?”

“Mum was fuming, still burning mad at me, even though she’s had more than enough time to process. Dad was quiet. And fidgety. He hadn’t been like that since he came back. I knew something was wrong. I knew I shouldn’t have stayed, but I wanted to make sure he was alright, y’know? He’s my dad.”

“How long had it been since you’d seen your parents?” Lestrade asked, not looking up from his notebook.

Olive sighed, “Mum? A year and a half. Daddy? Two weeks. We’d been meeting ever since I left. The last time I saw him he said he’d talk to Mum and call me when she was ready to talk. I think that’s what set her off. He was still on his meds when I saw him last.”

“You’re sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure. He was getting better, weaning off, but he still needed a small dose to be sane. When I came to the house, it wasn’t him.”

As Olive finished answering all of Lestrade’s more burning questions, Anya was escorted into the room. She had tears in her eyes and nearly launched across the room at Olive, “Mi amor!” she cried, carefully wrapping her arms around Olive’s neck.

“Careful of the ribs, baby. They’re a little bruised.” She rubbed her back, shushing her, a serene smile on her face. Sherlock looked to Lestrade, who nodded, and the two of them were dismissed.

Sherlock, with his uncanny ability, caught them a cab in less than a minute, not looking at John as he slid in the backseat. John, in a gesture of solidarity, placed his hand palm up in the seat between them. Sherlock took it, still facing away from him. John could see the tears falling in the reflection in the window.

***

Walking up the seventeen steps to Baker Street felt like a gauntlet. He didn’t want to leave Sherlock alone, but he knew he had to. Sherlock hung his coat and still kept his eyes away from John. He stood in the middle of the sitting room, shoulders hunched, gripping the bridge of his nose. Then his shoulders started to shake. John stepped forward and wrapped him in his arms again, “You’re alright, love. You’re home. You saved her. She’s alright.”

“I want her to have her father, John. They both deserve that much. It wasn’t their fault.” His voice was tight. John pulled him closer. 

“Lestrade will do the right thing, love. You know he will. He’s a good man.”

Sherlock’s arms tightened around him, “And I want you to stay. I know last week I made it seem like I didn’t but I do. I want you here all the time. I don’t want hotel rooms and lunch break takeaway every other week. I want to be the one you come home to.”

John’s chest tightened, “I know, Sherlock. That’s what I want, too. You know I do. But you always tell me to be careful, be smart, be safe when I bring it up.” 

“To hell with that. Take Rosie, pack a bag, come _home_ , John.”

John pulled back and cradled Sherlock’s face in his hands, “Do you mean it? Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it. Tonight. For the love of God, tonight. Mycroft can have your divorce finalized by the morning.”

John swallowed, “That’s not enough.” He cupped Sherlock’s ribs where his scar was, “I want her arrested. I want her arrested for what she did to you. To us.”

Sherlock’s eyes, translucent in the dim light, bore into him, “I don’t…”

“I want her off the streets, off the table, gone. She will not bother us.”

“John, I—“

“Sh, Sherlock. I know. But not yet. Wait until tonight. Wait until I’m home.”

Sherlock nodded and John kissed him, tasting the subtle salt of his tears. He pulled back and checked his watch. 4:25. He had to go home. 

***

John checked his watch as his cab pulled up to his flat. 4:50. He sighed with relief, paid his fare, and hopped out. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Rosie’s voice was the first thing he heard, her wobbly legs bringing her across the room to him, “Da!”

He picked her up and kissed her cheek, “Hello, sweetheart. How was your day?”

She babbled nonsense as John slowly walked into the kitchen, firmly placing himself in the role of doting husband. He kissed Mary’s temple, “Sorry, love. Statement took a bit longer than we thought. I got out as soon as I could.”

“What was it this time? Missing dog? Stolen jewels?” she asked, throwing a smile that once made his heart soar over her shoulder.

John shook his head, moving to put Rosie in her highchair, “I wish it was an easy one. Missing girl. A whole twisted situation, really. But she’s safe now. That’s all that really matters.” He sat down and placed his head in his hands, “It’s just the fact that she wasn’t really the only victim in this that makes it so twisted.”

Mary wrapped an arm around his shoulder and he had to do everything in his power not to flinch, “It’s over now. He solved another one.” John heard the mild contempt in her voice but decided not to dwell on it. She turned to plate dinner, spag bol, and placed it in front of him, “I leave in and hour. I should be home a little after six. If Rosie is still asleep, don’t wake me up when you leave. I’ll get up when she does.”

John nodded, eating in silence, listening to his daughter babble and his wife talk about her day. He was already formulating how he was going to get out of here.

***

_Mycroft is dispatching men to St. E’s. There will be a car for you in five minutes. Be quick. SH_

_Bag is packed. Rosie is excited to see you._

_She’ll never have to be away from me again. SH_

_You’re car is there. SH_

***

John shouldered his duffle bag and hoisted Rosie onto his hip. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Sure enough, a black car sat in front of the flat. John opened the back door to find Mycroft sitting in the back, “Doctor Watson.”

“Please don’t give me the loving big brother speech, Mycroft. Yes, I want this. No, I won’t break his heart,” John said, exasperated.

“That’s not why I’m here,” Mycroft replied, “I’m here to warn you.”

“Warn me of what?”

“There is a possibly that your wife may evade capture tonight. She’s smart. We have to prepare for any outcome.”

John stared at the other man, “If any one of your men let her escape, they will have not only, but Sherlock to contend with. So help me God, Mycroft.”

“I have planned for every possible contingency I can think of, but again, she’s smart. She may even outsmart me.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence, Rosie slowly falling asleep on John’s chest. His breath was shallow, short sips. His panic was rising. He could feel it. All he needed was to be in the same room as Sherlock, to know that he was safe.

His heart sank when they pulled up in front of Baker Street to find the door open, “Oh fuck,” John cursed. He turned to Mycroft who also had fear in his eyes, “Hold Rosie and stay here. If I don’t come back down in five minutes, call Greg. Tell him he needs every operative on his staff, no less.” Mycroft complied and John launched out of the car, first checking Mrs. Hudson’s flat. It was dark and empty. Her keys and coat were gone. She wasn’t here. He took the steps two at a time, gun at the ready.

The doors to 221B were locked. In his haste, he had left his keys with Mycroft. John took a deep breath and kicked. Mary had Sherlock kneeling on the floor in front of her, gun pressed to the back of his neck, “So nice of you to join us, husband. Can’t believe you almost lost my invitation in the post.”

“Mary, don’t.” John tightened his grip on his gun, his hand not wavering an inch.

“Don’t what? Don’t shoot your little fucktoy’s brilliant brain out? Why shouldn’t I? It would finally get him out of our way.”

“What do you want? Tell me.”

Mary grinned, her pearl white teeth glinting, “Simple, what I’ve always wanted. You. You, all to myself once and for all. No idiot consulting detective standing in the way.”

“Fine. You can have that. If that’s all you truly want, you can have it. Sherlock doesn’t need to die.” _Come on, Greg. Come on._

Mary laughed wryly, “You just don’t get it, do you? That’s exactly what needs to happen. Because with him alive, you’ll sit there and _pine_ , wishing only for him and never for me. It’s always been _him_.”

John pulled his safety and fired, hitting Mary right under the kneecap. She dropped to the floor like a felled tree, gun skittering away from her. John looked to Sherlock, “Take her gun. Downstairs. Now. Go.” He didn’t argue, “You underestimate me, Rosamund. He’s not my fucktoy and I’m not pining. He’s always been the love of my life. Always has been. He’s just too good of a man for me.”

She looked up at him from the floor, “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.”

“You did. He flatlined. But something just brought him back to life.” John stepped back as Greg and his men rushed into the flat. No one asked him any questions as he turned and walked down the stairs directly into Sherlock’s arms, “Is Rosie still asleep?”

Sherlock huffed out a chuckle, “Yes. Like a rock in the back seat.”

John sighed, “Good. I don’t want her last memory of her mother to be one where she’s being escorted out in handcuffs.”

“You did what you had to do.”

“I know. But God was it worth it. I love you so much.”

Sherlock pressed his lips to John’s hairline, pulling him closer to his chest, “I’m so sorry, dear man. If I could change any part of this I would.”

John wrapped his arms tighter around Sherlock’s waist, “Don’t say that. Because I know exactly which part you would change.”

Sherlock hummed, “I don’t think you do. If I could change any part of this, I never would have jumped. Or I would have taken you with me. I wouldn’t have stayed gone. I couldn’t imagine being in a world without you for any longer than I was.”

Their small moment was interrupted by Lestrade half escorting, half carrying Mary from the flat. She looked directly at John, her eyes dark, “You’re a bastard, John Watson.” She then looked to Sherlock who had pulled John impossibly closer, “If I ever get out, Sherlock Holmes, run for your life. I’m coming to you first.” Her taunting was cut off as Lestrade deposited her in the back of the police car.

He shuffled over and cleared his throat, “So when did you two, erm…” He motioned to their still close embrace.

“Now’s not really the time, Greg. It’s been a rather exhausting day.”

“A rather exhausting life,” Sherlock whispered into his hair.

“And I think we would prefer a few days to recuperate before the barrage of questions. Our flat isn’t a crime scene is it?”

“No, not at all,” Greg said, motioning to the open door, “By all means, take your time.”

John and Sherlock separated, Sherlock grabbing the duffle bag, John grabbing Rosie, and the little family headed toward the flat.

“And hey,” Greg called after them, making them turn, “I’m happy for you two. It took you long enough to figure it all out.”

John laughed, “You have no idea.”

***

John was roused from his good dreams by the shifting in his arms. Rays of sunlight had yet to filter in through the windows. He pulled the slim body closer, possessive in his early waking, “Stay. It’s not even light out yet.”

Sherlock chuckled, “Yes, well, Her Majesty doesn’t quite care about that. She’s been awake for half an hour. I was hoping she’d fall back asleep, but alas.”

John kissed Sherlock’s shoulder, “She takes after you. You’ve always been a night owl. Go get her, then. Bring her down and see if we can get at least another hour.” He released Sherlock and rolled onto his back, watching as he pulled a dressing gown off the back of the door and wrapped it around himself. 

“You’re staring,” he whispered.

“You’re gorgeous,” John replied.

Sherlock walked back over, dressing gown shifting, and leaned down to kiss him, “You’re a menace, husband.”

“As are you, husband. Now go get our daughter so we can sleep.”


End file.
